The confrontation doesn't happen the way I expect.
It isn't loud. It isn't dramatic. It doesn't happen in private.
It happens at the market.
Saturday mornings in Blackmere are a ritual. Fresh bread. Local produce. Neighbors pretending they're not gathering information while they gather information. I go anyway. I refuse to rearrange my life to make people comfortable.
Cassian walks with me this time. Not touching. Just present. That alone is enough to draw eyes.
I feel them tracking us. Counting steps. Measuring distance. Waiting.
And then someone says my name.
"Rowan?"
I turn. It's Mara, mid-forties, polite smile, eyes sharp. She's flanked by two others who pretend not to be listening.
"I heard Jude's back," she says lightly. Too lightly.
I nod. "He is."
"And you're… all right?" The question is sugar-coated judgment.
Cassian shifts beside me, barely perceptible. I don't look at him. I keep my focus on her.
"I'm better than all right," I say. "I'm honest."
That makes the air tighten.
Mara's smile falters. "We were just concerned. You know how people talk."
"Yes," I say calmly. "I do."
Behind her, someone whispers. I don't catch the words. I don't need to.
I take a breath. Then I do something I didn't plan.
I raise my voice. Not shouting. Just enough.
"Since everyone seems curious," I say, looking around deliberately, "let me be clear. I'm not confused. I'm not reckless. And I don't owe this town a timeline for my personal life."
Silence.
Cassian's breath catches. I feel it more than hear it.
"I won't be rushed into 'clean choices' to make anyone else comfortable," I continue. "If that bothers you, that's yours to sit with. Not mine."
No one speaks.
Mara's face flushes. "We didn't mean—"
"I know exactly what you meant," I say gently. "And now you know what I mean."
I turn away before anyone can respond. My hands are steady. My heart is pounding.
We walk a full block before Cassian speaks.
"That was… bold."
"I'm done shrinking," I reply.
He stops suddenly. I turn back, surprised.
"Rowan," he says, voice low. "You just painted a target on your back."
"Good," I say. "Let them aim. I won't flinch."
He studies me for a long moment. Then something in his expression shifts. Pride. Concern. Want. All tangled together.
"You know this affects me too," he says quietly.
"I know."
"And Jude."
"I know."
"That triangle?" He exhales. "It's not theoretical anymore."
"I never said it was."
We stand there, the space between us charged and unresolved.
Then Jude's voice cuts in.
"You handled that well."
He's across the street, hands in his jacket pockets, posture relaxed but eyes intent. He didn't interrupt. He waited.
Smart.
Cassian stiffens. "You shouldn't be here."
"I live here," Jude replies evenly. "And this concerns me."
"It concerns me," I say firmly. "Both of you need to understand something."
They look at me.
I hold their gazes, one after the other.
"This doesn't become a contest," I say. "Not in public. Not in private. If either of you turns this into leverage, I'm out."
Jude nods slowly. "Agreed."
Cassian hesitates. Then: "Agreed."
But I see it. The tension. The unspoken challenge.
This is no longer about who wants me more.
It's about who can stand beside me without trying to steer.
That night, another message comes in.
Different number.
You think you're in control. You're not.
I don't reply.
I don't block it either.
Because whoever sent it just crossed a line.
And I don't lose control.
I take it back.